


Tweets

by owlbsurfinbird



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Jean Innocent Appreciation Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:11:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3993037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlbsurfinbird/pseuds/owlbsurfinbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Innocent has a Twitter account.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tweets

Lizzie's mobile chirped again. She glanced at it.

"Something important, Sergeant?" James deliberately kept his eyes on his computer screen, not wanting her to see the faint disapproval he'd been unable to keep from his expression. _Three times in ten minutes. Not work related, obviously. She would've answered it if it were Tony. Must be a friend, then._ He sighed heavily. He'd have to say something, of course. Even though all they were doing this morning was catching up on paperwork, it wasn't on to field personal calls and texts throughout the day. She knew that.

"It's herself. The Chief Super."

He arched an eyebrow. "May I ask…?"

"Twitter." Lizzie held up the mobile—her own, not one supplied by the station. "She just got a Twitter account a few weeks ago. I'm a follower."

James bit back a smile. _Jean Innocent has a Twitter-feed?_ "What's her username?"

"Please don't follow her, sir."

He could feel his mood brightening. This was monumental. He'd have to text Robbie and Laura. The hypocrisy of the thought wasn't lost on him, but—Jean Innocent on Twitter? "Username? I can look it up, I suppose. But you'd be doing us both a favor if you would tell me now. I know you'd hate to have your coffee grow cold if I had to send you to the evidence room on some trivial errand."

She frowned at him, showing him with a pronounced swipe that she was muting the device. She set it aside, finished her coffee, and dropped her cup in the rubbish bin with a dramatic flourish. "What did you want from the evidence room, sir?"

"What did she tweet? You can at least tell me that."

He watched the expression on Lizzie's face go from determined to resigned. _We need to work on having her cultivate an impassive demeanor—she can't go into the interview room and give it all up to a suspect like that. She gives in far too easily._ Then he watched with a little pride as she pulled a stern look when she seemed to realize that her desire to tell him what he wanted to know was written all over her face.

"Admirable effort, though a bit late, sergeant." He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair.

"She's just getting used to it."

"What did she tweet? Humor me." He rocked forward to put his elbows on his desk.

Lizzie made a desultory swipe on the display. "'Celebrating my first tweet with a latte.'"

James closed his eyes. It was too much to hope that Jean Innocent would be funny and creative. If he followed her, she would probably fill his screen with "Productive meeting with officers" tweets and photos of her pets. Robbie sent photos of Monty or re-tweets of Lyn's about Jack's antics in school. Laura twittered brief reviews of exhibits, plays, and restaurants that she went to with friends. And Lizzie?

"I didn't know you had a twitter account," he said.

Her eyes went wide. "It's personal. Sir. Not work related at all."

 _Oh. Tweets about work, then._ "Well, what else does our Chief Super have to say?"

"Lots of complaints about late trains, meetings in London." She seemed to spend a few seconds scrolling. "A few re-tweets."

"Such as?"

The look she gave him was one of pious superiority. "She retweets missing and exploited children tweets. Public safety retweets. Health issues. Charities." She glanced at the mobile display. Shrugged. "A couple of retweets from Gurdip—password safety tips."

He sighed, returning his attention to his computer to access her personal email address and Facebook page and feeling profoundly disappointed to see her Twitter name. He clicked on the menu bar, stunned to see the number of followers. "That's an awful Twitter name," he added, absently. _How on earth did she get so many followers in such a short time?_ He'd been tweeting the dates for gigs for his band for ages and didn't have nearly as many followers.

Lizzie cocked her head, wincing a bit. "It is. Awful name. 'Innocent4evah.' Sounds like a teenager." She glanced at the mobile. "Here's another tweet—and you'll love this, sir. She tweeted: 'I actually AM the new chief of police for the whole of England. That's why I can't join you any more .'"

James felt a chill. He was still going over her follower list. A substantial number of officers at the Met were following her. He hoped that they would see her Tweet as the joke that it must be, otherwise she would have a lot to answer for.

"She's getting a lot of responses…" Lizzie's voice trailed off.

James watched as the number of people retweeting and offering their congratulations increased. He scanned the list as the numbers escalated. "No. This can't be right." She had re-tweeted the Chief Constable's congratulatory message. "She's leaving Oxfordshire." And—she was trending.

Lizzie's eyes narrowed. "You didn't know?"

"No." He opened his email inbox. Nothing. He checked his Facebook page. Nothing. He was a senior officer now, why wasn't he informed? How had he missed this? Wasn't there going to be a party or at least a round of drinks at a pub? He was on every bloody form of social media that existed, including Tumblr and Pinterest. This was unbelievable. He got up from his desk and stormed down the hall to her office.

Jean Innocent, casually dressed for the first time in their acquaintance, was standing in the center of her former space, now denuded of the few personal items that she had displayed. She folded her arms, cocked her head, and grinned at him.

"You're leaving." It sounded more hurt than congratulatory and certainly more accusing than he meant. She had been his first Chief Super. She had trained him up. And—truth be told—some of his fondest and most enduring memories were of being reprimanded while standing right here in front of her desk with Robbie Lewis at his side.

He felt a lump form in his throat. It was the end of an era. He hesitated, watching her expression soften into a knowing smile. And there it was, the inevitable eye roll. He huffed a sigh, feeling paralyzed, wondering at the appropriate etiquette. Should he hug her? Kiss her on both cheeks? Shake her hand? Throw her over the desk and—well, no, never that.

He was a master of language, millions of words at his disposal. Reams of poetry tucked in his head. And then it hit him: the rationale behind the simplicity of a tweet. One hundred and forty characters:

"Congratulations, Ma'am. Oxford's loss is the Met's gain. Thank you for training me up, for your kindness and encouragement. I'll miss you."

**Author's Note:**

> Not Brit picked or beta'd--apologies.
> 
> (Rebecca Front's Twitter account: @RebeccaFront and Laurence Fox: @LozzaFox. So this is a bit crack-ish. ;-) )


End file.
